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Updated: June 22, 2025
Duveneck, who, until then, had been happy in an old ulster with holes in the pockets and rips in the seams, dazzled the café by appearing in a jaunty spring overcoat. J. exchanged his old trousers with a green stain of acid down the leg for the new pair he had hitherto worn only when he went to call on the Bronsons or to dine with Mr.
Now and then talk of Whistler and "the boys" reminded Duveneck of his own student days, and would lead him into personal reminiscences, when the stories were of his adventures; sometimes on Bavarian roads, singing and fiddling his way from village to village, or in Bavarian convents, teaching drawing to pretty novices, receiving commissions from stern Reverend Mothers; and sometimes in American towns painting the earliest American mural decoration that prepared the way, through various stages, for the latest American series of all at the San Francisco Exposition where Duveneck was acclaimed as the American master of to-day.
We began that night to dine at the Panada and drink coffee at the Orientale, and we kept on dining at the Panada and drinking coffee at the Orientale every night we were in Venice; except when it was a festa and we followed Duveneck to the Calcino, where various Royal Academicians sustained the respectability Ruskin gave it by his patronage and Symonds tried to live up to; or when there was music in the Piazza and, happy to do whatever Duveneck did, we went with him to the Quadri or Florian's; or when it stormed, as it can in March, and all day from my window I had looked down upon the dripping Riva and the wind-waved Lagoon and lines of fishing boats moored to the banks, and no living creatures except the gulls, and the little white woolly dogs on the fishing boats covered with sails, and the sailors miserably huddled together, and gondoliers in yellow oilskins, and the Bersaglieri in hoods what the Bersaglieri were doing there even in sunshine was one of the mysteries of Venice; then we went with Duveneck no further than the kitchen of the Casa Kirsch, for he hated, as we hated, the table d'hôte from which, there as everywhere, German tourists were talking away every other nationality.
Their very first evening Duveneck called for two glasses of milk to steady his nerves, he said, though he politely attributed the unsteadiness not to this new excitement but to the tea he had been drinking. People drifted to our room from outside and from the new room to see what the noise was about, until there was not a table to be had.
It was only yesterday at San Francisco that the artists of America gave an unmistakable proof of what their opinion of Duveneck is now. In the Eighties "the boys" already thought as much of him and a hundred times more.
<b>MCLAUGHLIN, MARY LOUISE M.</b> Honorable mention, Paris Salon, 1878; silver medal, Paris Exposition, 1889; gold medal, Atlanta, 1895; bronze medal, Buffalo, 1900. Member of the Society of Arts, London; honorary member of National Mineral Painters' League, Cincinnati. Born in Cincinnati, Ohio. Pupil of Cincinnati Art Academy and of H. F. Farny and Frank Duveneck in private classes.
He had made his name and fame as one of the Harvard baseball team in I will not say what year, and sleep had been his chief occupation ever since. No end of stories were going the round of the studios and cafés he invited them without wanting it or meaning to. He was supposed to be in Venice to study with Duveneck, at whose studio he was said to arrive regularly at the same hour every morning.
I can see now, when I consider how my Venetian days were spent, that I came perilously near to sinking to the deepest depths of Venetian idleness myself. We were never alone with Duveneck at the Orientale. The American Consul was sure to drop in, as he had for so many years that half his occupation would have gone if he hadn't dropped in any longer.
But his masterpiece was the Dissipated Gentleman, like all masterpieces a marvel of simplicity hired evening clothes, a good long roll in the muddiest gutter on the way to the ball, and it was done; but the art, Duveneck said, was in the rolling, which in this case, under his direction, was so masterly that at the door the Dissipated Gentleman was mistaken for the real thing and, if friends had not come up in the nick of time, the door would have been shut in his face.
During his nap, Duveneck would come round and shake him and before he slept again put a touch to the study and, as Arnold promptly dozed off, would work on it until it was finished, and unless it slid down the canvas with the quantity of bitumen Arnold used there was one story of the beautiful eyes in a beautiful portrait, before they could be stopped, sliding into the chin of the pretty girl who was posing Arnold, waking up eventually, would carry off the painting unconscious that he had not finished it himself.
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